


Show Me Sex Appeal (Get on Your Hands and Knees)

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bondage, Daddy Kink, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 13:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2310884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They really have to stop meeting this way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Me Sex Appeal (Get on Your Hands and Knees)

**Author's Note:**

> So I tried to get everything important in the tags, but warnings for rough sex, definitely some dubious consent, whipping, blood kink (kinda), and probably everything you'd expect from Moriarty.  
> Title is from Temposhark's _Don't Mess With Me_
>
>> Writing Playlist: http://8tracks.com/do-this-now/please-sex-me

**i.**  


He sees him across the room, in a crowded pub, bent over a glass of whiskey and the harsh lighting of the bar reflecting off his jacket. There are scars covering his face, and it sends the corners of his lips twitching up. He’s still wearing the suit jacket of his last victim, and he adjusts it slightly on his shoulders, making his way over as slowly as he dares. The man barely spares him a look, but he knows how to change that.

A pill is dropped into the drink when he has the man distracted, spinning tales that are mainly true. He knows that when men like this get drunk, they’re always interested in a good old-fashioned murder.

They fuck like dogs against the wall of the bathroom, and it’s dirty and covered in grime, but the man’s biceps flex under his hands, and he seems perfectly content with the claw marks down his back.

Moriarty steals his phone when he passes out. It’s always nice to have insurance.

**ii.**  


The man’s on the doorstep of his hotel room three days later. “You took my phone, bastard.” His voice is barely more than a growl, and Moriarty sighs, leaning against the door frame slightly.

“Yes, I did. The fact that it took you this long to realize is somewhat disappointing.” He tsks softly, brushing a bit of hair from his eyes. “I expected better from you.”

“You-” There’s an _excellent_ flush spreading up the man’s neck, and he licks his lips, almost without realizing it. “You’re fucking sick.”

He laughs. Someone had once told him that his laugh sounded like a knife looked. He liked that quite a lot. “So I’ve heard. Please, come in. Can I get you some tea?”

“After last time?” The man doesn’t even move, arms crossed sturdily across his chest. “Fuck no.”

“Oh, but darling,” he purrs, stepping out of the doorway to trail a finger down the man’s chest, “wasn’t last time so much fun?”

This time there’s a bed involved, and also handcuffs. He leaves the man on the bed for about an hour afterwards, scrolling through his phone again. “Sebastian.” He hisses softly, watching as the man groans softly at the mention of his name. “This is a lovely arrangement we have going. Please, let yourself out.” He tosses the phone at the foot of the bed before leaving the room.

He checks out of the hotel thirty minutes later.

**iii.**  


It takes a week and a half this time for Sebastian to find him. He’d been sloppy in covering his tracks, knowing that his enemies couldn't find him, but maybe this man could. This time he finds him in the middle of the street, then shoves him into a back alley, letting the bricks dig against Moriarty’s back. “Disgusting,” he hisses, and Moriarty laughs again, writhing slowly against Sebastian’s hold on him.

“Now, my dear tiger,” he whispers, tracing his thumb over the scar across his nose, “how did you get these scars?”

Sebastian’s arm comes to press against his neck, and he smiles even as it gets harder to breathe. “What do you want from me?”

“I thought I made that perfectly clear,” he smirks, lifting his hips from the wall ever so slowly, “you’re an exciting fuck. I’m willing to pay you to stick around. Plus, I've been doing my research. You have quite an exciting past, Colonel Moran.” He pushes against Sebastian’s arm, knowing it will give, and mouths at the man’s jawline, laughing breathlessly. “I’ll let you kill all the men you want,” he whispers, fingers digging into Moran’s hips. He can feel the other man growing hard against his thigh, and he grins slowly. “And as an added bonus, I’ll pay you to let me fuck you.”

A fist comes smashing down against the brick wall, but Moriarty had expected it, dropping to his knees. His fingers slide down Sebastian’s waistband, and there’s a harsh growl above him. “In fact,” he continues, removing the man’s belt with practiced ease, “signing the contract is incredibly easy. Would you like to hear how?”

“How?” Sebastian grunts, and Moriarty smiles again. Curious, like he’d expected. Oh, this would be so much fun.

“Cum in my mouth,” he whispers.

He promises Sebastian his first paycheck within the week.

**iv.**  


“You put somethin’ in my drink,” Sebastian slurs, the moment he wakes up, and Moriarty laughs again, straddling the man’s hips.

“Of course I did, darling.” He scratches sharp nails down Moran’s chest, and the man’s hips jump slowly, the drugs making him lazy. “You’re so much more fun that way, of course.” He’d undressed Moran before tying him up, as he does usually, but the ball gag is a new one, and he watches as Moran’s eyes widen slowly in something akin to fear. It makes his back arch slightly, and he fights to control himself. He’s in one of his better suits, he wants it to stay nice.

The plug follows with no preamble, no lube either, and Moran arches entirely off the bed, scream hidden behind the gag. Moriarty just rides his hips up, head thrown back as he laughs. “Oh, pretty pet,” he whispers, nails still digging into Moran like claws, “surely you’ve learnt to expect things like this by now! And yet,” he slides the cock ring subtly from his jacket pocket, twirling the glinting silver piece in his hand, “you seem to not have learned.”

Tears are leaking from the corners of Sebastian’s eyes, and they merely start to flow faster when Moriarty shoves the ring down his shaft, entire body trembling like he’d been electrocuted. “Delicious,” he whispers, leaning down to lick the tears from the man’s cheeks. “Better let you sit for a while, yes? Meat is always better after it’s marinated for a while.”

Sebastian’s screams follow him out of the room.

(He knows later that he’ll be back, ride Sebastian until he stops screaming and then fuck him until he finishes, but Moran doesn’t need to know that yet.)

**v.**  


He’s sitting at the table in the kitchen when Sebastian comes home, and doesn’t look up until he hears the strangled cough. “You’re late.” He says simply, tugging slightly at the leather glove on one hand. “You know I don’t stand for being late.”

His eyes follow Sebastian’s throat as the man swallows, gun strap sliding slightly off his shoulder. “I did what you asked,” he protests, although it seems weak, a weak bargain for mercy, “the body is gone, promise-”  
“It shouldn’t have taken you this long,” he replies harshly, standing slowly and approaching his sniper. “I requested for you to be back almost fifteen minutes ago.”

He presses his palms flat against Moran’s chest, dragging them down his stomach, pressing the thin material of his t-shirt against the man’s skin. He can see the shape of his muscles behind it, and he smiles, licking slightly at Moran’s neck. “That requires punishment,” he whispers, moving away from Moran and pulling a chair out from the table. “It would mean quite a lot to me if you were to cooperate.”

Moran moves as if he’s drunk, but the rifle goes beside the door like always. He grows impatient quickly, kicking at the back of Sebastian’s knees as he approaches the chair, watching as the man hits the ground with a barely hidden wince. He brings his hand to the back of Moran’s neck, watching as the man shivers at the touch of leather against his skin. Moriarty doesn’t hesitate much longer, shoving Sebastian’s chest against the chair, running his other hand down his spine.

“One day,” he keeps his hand on Sebastian’s neck, sliding the other under his shirt, “I’m going to get fed up with your bad behavior. Do you know what’s going to happen then?” Sebastian is shaking like a leaf beneath him, and he sighs. “I suppose I’m going to have to tell you. You are going to die, and I will move on. So I suggest you improve. Are you going to do that for me?”

Moran gasps, head falling forward under his hand. “Yes,” he gasps out, and Moriarty can’t help but frown.

“Yes _what_?”

“Yes sir,” Sebastian whispers, and he smiles slightly, withdrawing his hand from his back.

“Good pet,” he whispers, tugging the glove a little bit further down with his teeth, “but you still need to be punished, yes?” He pulls Sebastian’s jeans down without waiting for an answer, dragging a finger down the curve of his ass. “I’m sure you won’t complain.”

He aims for the back of Sebastian’s thighs first, relishing the red palm print that shows almost instantly. Sebastian whines loudly, but cuts himself off. He’s almost - _proud_. “Keep this up,” he whispers, “and this will all be over sooner.”

The next time he brings his hand down, a harsh slap on Sebastian’s left cheek, he moans aloud. Typical. “ _Animal_ ,” he hisses, gripping the back of Sebastian’s neck harder, harder, desperate for the bruises to show, a collar Sebastian can’t take off, “you should know better than to complain.”

His next slap goes to the right, and Sebastian has the nerve to fucking sob, and in an instant he stands. “Don’t move.” His voice is harsh, cold, and for good measure, he walks around the chair until he can kick the toe of his designer shoes in between Sebastian’s ribs.

The walk to the closet is a quick one, and he measures the weight of the whips in his hands for a moment. It’s not a hard choice, in the end. The cat o’nine tails rests gently in his palms, and he slowly makes his way back to the kitchen, bouncing the whip slightly.

Sebastian shivers as Moriarty draws closer, and in a rare moment of kindness, he draws the weapon slowly down Sebastian’s back, as if to let him know what’s coming.

Of course, from his startled scream of surprise when Jim actually hits him, he doubts Moran _really_ knew what was coming. Scarlet blood beads up from the welts across Sebastian’s back, and Moriarty has to fight back a moan himself.

“Good enough to eat,” he whispers softly, crouching down beside Moran. He takes the whip in his left hand, and brings it down against Sebastian’s back at the same time he brings his right hand against the man’s ass. Sebastian sobs again, although this time he tries to control it, body jolting forward into the chair.

He reaches up with his free hand, gripping Sebastian’s hair as hard as he can, yanking the man’s head back. “Now,” he brings his lips closer to Sebastian’s ear, “you’re going to tell Daddy you’re sorry, and then maybe, I’ll find it in me to be nice.”

Without waiting for an answer, he drops the whip to the floor, keeping his right hand in Sebastian’s hair, and moving his left hand to his lips, prying his mouth open and tracing his teeth with two gloved fingers. “So?”

Sebastian moves to speak, but it comes out strangled, choked, and he sighs dramatically, ever-so-slowly removing his fingers. “I’m sorry,” his voice is hoarse, and Moriarty draws his fingers over the welts, still oozing blood, “I’m _sorry_ ,” it comes out as a half-sob now, “it won’t happen again, Daddy, I’m sorry,” his voice trails off into a cry as Moriarty starts pinching the sensitive skin on the back of his thighs.

“Good boy,” he purrs, picking the whip up again, “but not good enough. You have a little bit of punishment left to go.” He lands the next five strikes hard and fast, switching between Sebastian’s back and his thighs. The man is trembling again, tears flowing fast and hard, matching the blood streaming down his back.

Finally, finally he stops, moving from Sebastian’s side to kneel behind him, placing his hands gently on his hips. “For a punishment like that,” he whispers, not caring if Sebastian can hear him or not, “you deserve a reward.”  
He can taste the blood even as he licks into Sebastian, and smiles.

(Later, he’ll drag the man off the chair, click his tongue at the mess. “I really didn’t want to reupholster,” he’ll claim, but inside it fills him with a predatory sense of accomplishment.)

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here](http://billykaplanx.tumblr.com)!


End file.
